Hungover Trilogy
weather report
Your eyes are narrowed,
Red-rimmed and bloodshot.
Your breath smells of yeast
and rotten meat
and you’re wearing the smile
that chilled Red Ridinghood
to the bone.
I’m backed into the corner
of my chair,
spine straight, frozen.
Hoping if I sit still enough,
I’ll become invisible
and your words won’t pounce,
but it’s too late.
It’s my fault for not reading
the Weather Report,
not noticing the size
of the amber waves
washing down your throat;
for forgetting the undertow
that follows
and now I’m caught in it
and drowning in the depths
of Shadows
I didn’t create.
come morning
I’m trying to make myself small.
Curl in on myself
until I exist only in theory.
Until your anger
can’t touch any part of me
that’s real.
I’m lost.
Like an animal in a corner,
I’m bristled and high-strung.
Alert. Weary.
I’m exhausted from living on the edge
but I don’t know how to back down.
How to save myself,
let alone anyone else.
But you’ll never see me cry
because I always remember
to leave the rose-colored glasses
on your nightstand.
And come morning,
I’ll be all smiles.
my hill
I’m tired of waking up
To brush the taste of rage
From my teeth and tongue.
How many times
Can I regret
All the words
Spoken and swallowed
Before I have to admit
The problem is me?
But I’m waging
Another private war.
Forcing everyone to walk
Over minefields
As they pass.
Turning the house
Into a battlefield
Filled with tight,
Forced smiles.
I drink too much
To dull the anger
And the rage.
I drink too much
To stop thinking
About plans of attack.
I drink too much
And wall myself in
With empty bottles-
The berm of a foxhole
Dug in the shape
Of my own grave.
My dad always told me
Some hills
Weren’t worth dying on.
I think he got it
From a movie,
But every morning
I stand before the General
In the mirror,
Brush my teeth
And wonder
If I’ve found that hill,
Or if tonight
Will be another chance
To find out.
©2023 Chris Dean All rights reserved.
Chris Dean is a poet and spoken word artist from the heart of Indiana, where they live with their husband. Recent works have appeared in The Whiskey Mule Diner and The Blue Motel Rooms.